Deadly Fall (12 page)

“Tony and Ginette dragged Isabelle out of bed this morning so they could drop her off on their way to Banff. She didn't have time to pack everything.”

“Isabelle's parents have gone to Banff?”

“They figured while they were in Calgary, why not take in the sights.”

“Tony is fine about his daughter living with Felix?”

“Not really. I'm sorry, but I've got to leave. This hasn't been much of a lunch. I didn't mean to drag you out to listen to this shit.”

He had meant to drag her out to find out what she knew and had overheard. Presumably, the cops' connecting the murder weapon to his father had distracted him from that task.

“Are you busy tonight?” he asked.

“No.” Unless Hayden managed to juggle his meeting so they could have dinner.

“My client gave me tickets to the hockey game. Obviously, I wasn't planning to go.”

Was this an invitation? “Aren't the Flames locked out of playing?”

“This is the Hitmen, Junior League. Do you like hockey?”

She did. When she was married, she and Gary went to the arena a few times a year. “You'd attend a hockey game the day after your wife's funeral?”

He stroked the monkey's head. “I don't care what people think. It could be a break from all this, take my mind off things.”

“Where does Felix live?” Paula said. “I could help you by dropping off her stuff.”

“Mission. His townhouse backs on the Elbow.” He stopped.

River path, she finished his sentence. Callie would have jogged by Felix's house the morning she died and every morning for the previous month or more. Felix might have seen her and been aware of her habit.

Sam looked at the candle monkey. “Shit. I wrecked this thing. I'll buy you another one.”

“It's one of a kind.”

“It's strange.” He twisted his wedding ring. “From the minute Callie's family arrived, I couldn't wait for them to leave. Dorothy flew out this morning. Tony and Ginette are gone. Even, Isabelle took off. Tonight, the last thing I want is a reheated casserole in an empty house.”

A house he disliked, Felix had said. Sam's sympathy plea could be a con, but there might be an element of sincerity. Hayden hadn't called yet about their plans for tonight and juggling was not commitment. After seeing his father this afternoon, Sam might have news about the gun.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay what?”

“I can go to the hockey game tonight.”

“That's great.” He sounded more distracted than thrilled. “It would help if you would deliver Isabelle's things. If I go, she'll get talking and I don't have the time for that.”

“Mission's on my way.”

“If neither of them is home, you can leave Isabelle's box on the back deck. By the way, if you see Felix and Isabelle, don't mention the gun being found and traced to my father. The cops asked me to keep it quiet until they have a chance to speak to people.”

“You've told me.”

Again, the surprised expression of the candle monkey. “I doubt you're a serious suspect.”

Unlike Felix and Isabelle.

Isabelle opened Felix's door. “Sam called to say you'd be here.” She brightened at the sight of the box Paula held.

On the way to the townhouse, Paula had stopped to check out Isabelle's things. They included assorted mismatching socks, a jacket, several bottles of shampoo and conditioner, bath oils,
DVD
s, and
CD
s of punk-looking metal musicians as well as mainstream Coldplay, Usher, and Outkast, whom Paula enjoyed in small doses.

Paula set the box at the foot of Felix's interior stairs. The ground floor was a huge open area. The recliner chair, side table, lamp and
TV
looked lost in the living room space. No pictures hung on the walls, which were painted builders' white.

“Is Felix home?” she asked.

“He said he'd be back soon.”

Paula's nose twitched at the cigarette smell. Behind the recliner, a chandelier hung over the empty bamboo floor. The dining area's sole furnishings were a chair and a student's desk against the wall. Above them hung a rifle rack and glass gun display case.

Isabelle followed her gaze. “They kind of creep me out. Felix says they aren't loaded and the bullets are stored in cupboards behind pots and things.”

“Sam says he has about twenty guns.”

“There's more?” Isabelle's blue eyes widened.

An island separated the dining area from the kitchen. Three barstools grouped around it. To make room for a plate, you would have to shove aside a foot-high pile of newspapers and mail.

“Sam told me your room is almost a separate apartment upstairs,” Paula said.

“It's the attic.”

“Can I see it?”

Isabelle stepped over her box and darted up the stairs. Paula bent to pick up Isabelle's things, decided she wasn't the girl's packhorse and left them to follow her up the twelve-foot staircase to the middle floor. Isabelle oozed such innocence. She might be foolishly in love with Sam, but it was almost impossible to think of her as involved in some evil plot.

The back bedroom's door was ajar. Paula glimpsed white pillows plumped on a king sized brass bed covered in a white duvet. The floor's front rooms seemed more suited to the disheveled Felix. The den's computer screen poked above a jumble of paper and dictionaries. Boxes and board games filled the other room. Monopoly. Clue. Risk.

“Felix was talking about us playing one of those games tonight,” Isabelle said. “Kid stuff.”

“I enjoy a good game now and then.”

“You could come over. He says they're better with more people.”

Was Isabelle serious? “I'm busy tonight,” Paula said. Going to a hockey game.

Isabelle bounded up the staircase to the third floor. Paula plodded behind her to the open attic loft, a long narrow room with sitting areas at each end. Little natural light flowed through the gabled windows.

Isabelle stopped beside the futon at the front of the house. “Dimitri left a
DVD
and
CD
player. There's even a microwave and bar fridge. I'm going to use this part for my living room and that other futon for sleeping, like he did. That door over there is the bathroom.”

“Sam's son lived here?”

“For a few weeks, until he bought a condo in his political riding.” Isabelle crossed to the back window. “See, my view's pretty good.”

Paula joined her. From this height, the lone cyclist on the Elbow trail looked like a doll. “Are you sure you'll like it here?”

“Sam's moving at Christmas anyway. I can stay here forever or until I can afford my own apartment.”

“You don't mind Sam breaking the deal about your living with him?”

Isabelle's eyelashes flickered, the first indication she was capable of guile. “He came up with something better.”

“What does your father think of this?”

“My mom will make him come around.”

“Why do your parents think this is better for you than living with Sam?”

Below, something thumped.

“That's Felix,” Isabelle said.

By the time Paula got downstairs, Isabelle had explained her presence to Felix, who looked even more rumpled than he had at the funeral. His jeans, belted below his stomach, were frayed at the knees and the hem. Threads hung from his orange sweater, which had a hole in the arm. He removed his faded Calgary Flames baseball cap and asked Paula if she would like a drink. She hesitated. It would mean rescheduling her first afternoon appointment.

“Maybe a glass of water or juice,” she said.

With a swoop of his arm, Felix cleared the kitchen island. Newspapers and envelopes toppled to the floor. He got a jug of orange juice from the fridge, poured three glasses half full, and took a bottle of vodka from an island shelf. Paula turned down his offer of a spike and was glad when Isabelle did too.

“Cheers.” Felix raised his glass and downed half his drink. “So, you met Sam for lunch. How's he doing the morning after?”

Reminding herself not to mention the murder weapon discovery, she said Sam seemed okay, all things considered. “This is a great house. I looked at one in this complex last spring that was way beyond my budget.”

“Mine too,” Felix said. “Magazine and newspaper work pays crap.”

“My parents rent,” Isabelle said.

“I own,” Felix said. “Sam holds the mortgage.”

“Really?” Paula looked up from drinking.

“It's no secret.”

She took a leap. “Is that why Callie paid for most of her and Sam's house?”

His long sip said he wasn't answering the question. “Are you into guns?” He must have noticed her studying the gun rack and case. Three rifles and three guns.

“Do you hunt or shoot?” she asked.

Isabelle padded to the glass case. “I wouldn't like killing animals. Shooting bottles or birds could be fun.”

“Birds are animals,” Paula said.

“Someday, I'll take you to the shooting range,” Felix said to Isabelle while looking at Paula. He lumbered to the glass case, turned the combination lock, and removed a handgun. “You've got to see this beauty. It's my latest find.”

Isabelle stepped back and shook her head, refusing to touch it. Paula would have thought Isabelle would be bolder, although she had seemed startled by the prospect of him owning twenty guns.

Felix cradled the weapon in both hands. “It's a Walther
PPK
32.”

“Walter?” Paula pictured her next-door neighbor rocking on his porch.

“A widow I interviewed for a quilting article happened to mention, in passing, her husband had brought a Walther semi-automatic home from the war. She was wondering what to do with it, now that he was gone. I offered to take it off her hands.”

Paula set her juice glass on the counter. Felix's “beauty” was heavier than she expected. She hadn't held a gun before. The Walther cooled her palm. Felix watched her like a mother releasing her newborn to a stranger. What was so pretty about this gun? It looked like any other semi-automatic.

Isabelle edged closer. “Is it worth a lot of money?”

“I gave the widow a fair price,” Felix said. “It even comes with capture papers. Hold your fingers straight.” His sweaty hand touched Paula's. “Never on the trigger, unless you plan to shoot. Capture papers authorized soldiers to bring the gun home. I figure the husband stole it from a dead Nazi.” Felix scooped the Walther from her hand, apparently unable to tolerate her further mishandling. He returned it to the case.

She picked up her orange juice glass. “Sam says you have about twenty guns. Are they all registered?”

“Of course,” he winked at her.

She sipped, not looking up. “I gather the gun that killed Callie wasn't found with her on the trail.”

Felix returned to the kitchen island and finished his drink. “Are you and Sam going to the game tonight?”

“How did you know?”

“He said he might ask you.”

“When?”

“I don't know. This morning, I guess.” So, Sam's invitation wasn't spur-of-the-moment.

“What's the matter with your arm?” Isabelle said to Felix.

His right arm moved stiffly as he refilled his glass with vodka and juice.

“An old hunting injury, acts up in damp weather.” Felix leaned back and chugged.

Paula's cell phone rang. Hayden's name appeared on the screen. She told Felix she had to leave and walked with Isabelle to the front door. Would Felix's drinking continue into the evening? Isabelle was wiry, tall, and in good physical shape, but could she handle a drunk who was more than twice her mass and age, owned twenty guns, some illegal and hidden, and was quite possibly under suspicion of murder?

“What did your parents think of Felix's collection of guns?” she said.

“They saw the ones on the wall. They're locked up safe.”

“And Felix and Sam forgot to mention all the other ones in the house.”

Isabelle's parents had gone off to Banff. She was Callie's niece and had been Callie's responsibility before she died.

Paula rummaged through her purse for a business card and scribbled her home phone number and address on the back. “Call, if you run into problems.”

Isabelle took the card. “I won't have any problems when I find a job.”

Felix saluted good-bye with his drink.

Paula hurried through the drizzle to her car. She phoned the claimants she was supposed to see this afternoon, apologized with “a close friend died,” rescheduled, and returned Hayden's call.

“I have a gap in my day,” he said. “Feel like getting together?”

“I'm in Mission heading back to my place.”

“I'll grab my car and pop over.”

“That's sweet of you.”

“I've neglected you these past two days.”

She had wanted the time to shower and dress for the evening and phone Leah to enquire about Skye's funeral service.

This impulse from Hayden suggested he hadn't juggled tonight's meeting and she was free to go out with Sam.

“It took some
effort,” Hayden said. “But I got it changed to tomorrow.”

He entered the house, dressed in the gray suit she wished he would retire. It tended to wash out his face. The monkey foot poked from under her purse on the console table. If she showed the candle to Hayden, he would ask her why she was buying knickknacks she disdained as dust collectors. While she got their drinks, he settled on the sofa, no doubt expecting her to snuggle beside him. She chose the chair and skirted the issue of tonight's plans by recapping her day: Sam's late arrival at lunch, the detectives' tracing the murder weapon to Sam's father's shed, Isabelle's move to Felix's house, her delivering Isabelle's belongings, and Felix's drinking and guns. Since Hayden seemed attentive, she rambled more. Spewing it out felt so good.